


Every Time a Bell Rings

by scifigrl47



Series: Tales of the Bots [16]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas fic, Kidfic, M/M, Tony Stark Has Issues, family fic, overcompensating in the way that Tony Stark has always specialized in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9429062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: It's Christmas, and that means getting presents for the smallest Stark family member.  And DJ's idea of a great Christmas present doesn't always match his parents'.





	

“This should not be the hardest part of parenting.”

Tony paused, a cup of hot cider halfway to his lips. “Wait,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You think THIS is the hardest part of parenting?”

Steve leaned his head against the back of the couch. “You got something to top it, Stark?”

“Last week we had to clip his toenails every time he went human because he decided it was hysterical to have long toenails and, as it turns out, he can control that,” Tony said, his voice dark. He had not enjoyed that. At all. Especially since DJ made it his mission in life to escape before they could clip them. 

Steve made a face. “That's not in most parenting books,” he admitted. “I'll still take that discussion over trying to figure out what he wants for Christmas.”

DJ crept up, a cup of steaming cider balanced carefully between his hands. He held it out to Steve with a broad grin. Steve took it, grinning back. “Thank you, Deej. Do you want some?” DJ considered that question, then shook his head, plopping down on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. He leaned his chin on the edge of the table and watched, his gaze curious, as Steve took a sip.

“Good?” he asked.

“Perfect,” Steve said, and DJ grinned. Steve looked at Tony, his eyebrows arched. Tony, caught in the act of taking a sip of his drink, stared back. Steve tipped his head in DJ's direction, and Tony shrugged. DJ, meanwhile, watched them both, his gaze avid.

Steve sighed. “What do you want for Christmas?” DJ blinked at him, and Steve pointed at the huge tree that dominated the center of the room. “Christmas is this week, and you haven't told us what you want yet.”

DJ's face lit up. He grabbed his tablet from the table and folded his legs under him. He bent over the tablet, his fingers dancing over the surface. 

Tony took a sip of his cider, warmth curling through him. “Smooth,” he muttered under his breath.

“You weren't giving me a better plan,” Steve muttered back, giving Tony a look out of the corner of his eye.

Tony grinned. “You're the planner. I'm a 'fly by the seat of my pants' sort of guy.”

DJ held up the tablet. “This!” he said, his smile huge.

Tony took it from him. The website displayed a picture of a silver Christmas table display. It had a series of candle holders around the base, and a delicate metal bladed fan on top. The warm air from the candles would rise up, making the circular tableau turn in slow, steady circles. Skaters would loop around the bottom, and above them, angelic figures would spin, ringing bells as they turned.

“That's very pretty, but Steve meant, what do you want for Christmas? As a present?” Tony asked, handing the tablet back.

DJ stared up at him. Then he looked back down at the tablet. “This,” he said, pointing at the screen.

Steve was rubbing his forehead like he'd suddenly developed a particularly painful headache. “Deej-”

“Remember the discussions we've had about not making Steve cry?” Tony asked. DJ nodded. “This is one of those times, kiddo. Pick something better.”

DJ stared at him. Then he held up the tablet.

“I have never seen a face that so clearly communicates the idea of 'what could possibly be better than this,'” Tony said. He patted Steve on the shoulder. “You're on your own, Cap.”

“That's a very nice Christmas decoration, but I was thinking of buying you a gift, something just for you, not-” Steve stumbled to a halt, clearly at a loss. He took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “Maybe a toy? Or a book? Is there something else you want?”

DJ stared at him, his expression confused. “I will buy it,” he declared in tones that made it clear that he was giving up on adult intervention at this point.

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “Deej. We'll totally get you the, the, whatever that thing is, I promise. But for Christmas-” He stopped, wondering how to explain this. “For Christmas, you're supposed to choose something special. Something that you can't have every day, something-” He waved a hand in the air. “Cap, help me out here.”

“Christmas is a special day,” Steve said. “On special days, like- Like your birthday, get special gifts.”

“Something special,” Tony agreed. “Something less... Trashy.”

Steve elbowed him in the side. “Something you can't have most days,” Tony amended with a wince.

DJ's eyes darted between them. “Special,” he agreed slowly.

“Right,” Steve said, his voice full of relief. He sat up with a grin. “So, what do you want for Christmas, Deej?”

“Donuts,” DJ said, and Tony knew that he had a choice between laughing or crying and laughing was slightly more dignified. He buried his face in the back of Steve's shoulder.

“That's not-” Steve started.

“Special treat,” DJ said, and Steve gave up. 

“Right,” he said, holding out his arms, and DJ crawled into his lap. “Donuts.” He gave Tony a tight, strained smile. “Your kid wants donuts for Christmas, Tony.”

“Could be worse,” Tony said, staring down at the tablet, and imagining that thing in the middle of his living room. All of a sudden, he felt a headache of his own coming on. “Could be muffins.”

Steve gave him a look. "Just for that, you can do the shopping."

Tony took a deep breath. "Right."

*

“I cannot do this fathering thing.”

“Are we really having this discussion again?”

“He wants donuts.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a sigh. “Okay, we're having this discussion again,” Rhodey said. But there was a faint note of amusement in his voice that Tony was far too familiar with. “So what, Tony? So the kid wants donuts. I want donuts. Everyone wants donuts. It's a thing, Tone.”

Tony braced a hand on the counter, staring at the coffee pot like it had talked bad about his mother. Which, knowing his appliances, it probably had at some point. “I asked him what he wanted for Christmas, and he said DONUTS, Rhodes.”

“Okay?”

Tony straightened up, spreading his hands. “Donuts,” he repeated.

“When your armor was killing you, actively KILLING you-”

“Why do you always bring this up?” Tony asked. “Why is this always your fallback, it's like you have no other argument, and-”

“Didn't you go out for donuts?”

Tony made a face. “I would've invited you, but we were on a break at the time.”

Rhodey ignored that. “I'm just saying, donuts? Runs in the family, Tony.”

The coffee pot beeped, and Tony reached for it. “A lot of things run in this family, we can't use that as an excuse.”

“Tony, know what my nephew asked for last Christmas?”

“A better uncle?” Tony asked, dumping a splash of coffee into his cup and draining it immediately. Then he went back for more.

“A rainbow wig. Like, straight up, a rainbow afro. My sister told him absolutely not. My mother told him to pick out something better. Know what I did?”

“Bored him with long, pointless stories?” Tony asked.

“I got him the damn wig,” Rhodey said. “And he loves it. He loves the stupid, trashy thing. Because he's a kid, and kids like stupid, trashy things that come off of Amazon for $19.95.”

“It's on sale for $14.95,” Tony said, his voice dark.

“Those are some real savings. You should take advantage of that.” Rhodey's voice was amused, but there was a thread of steel beneath that. “Tone. In all seriousness, man. DJ doesn't talk very much. When he does, don't you think you should, I don't know, actually listen to him?”

Tony paused, his hand braced on the counter. “It's-”

“Yeah?”

“It's SO CHEAP,” Tony said.

“I don't know why I bother talking to you, I really don't, it's like talking to a particularly dumb brick wall,” Rhodey said. “All I get is a headache and a sore throat.”

“It's so cheap and tacky and horrible, I have no objection to the thing, but I can give him anything, and he wants this poorly designed piece of stamped tin-”

“So find him a better quality one, but don't blame me when you disappoint the kid because your sense of aesthetic is more important than respecting what he actually wants,” Rhodey said, and Tony froze, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“Don't blame me when-”

“Not that.” Tony dropped the cup to the counter. “What did you say, the start, what-”

“So find him a better quality one?” Rhodey asked, slowly. “Tony, wait, don't-”

And just like that, it clicked. “I need you,” Tony said.

“Yeah, you always need me, what-”

“Now. I need you now.” Tony grabbed the coffee pot, and his cup. He considered how much the cup could hold and thought better of actually putting coffee in it. He dumped the remains of the cup back into the pot and tossed the cup into the sink. He started across the kitchen with the pot instead. “I know you're on your way to the East Coast, you can be here in, what, an hour? Two?”

“No.”

“You can totally make it in two, don't even lie to me, I designed that armor, you cannot have fucked up the repulsor output that much, you can-”

“I can,” Rhodey said, cutting him off. “I'm not going to. In that it's two days before Christmas, and the reason why I'm coming back to the East Coast is to see my mother and my family, not to see you.”

“I thought I was family,” Tony said, trying to sound hurt.

“You're not playing me.”

Tony changed gears. “I need an engineer, and you're the best one I know, come on, I need you, just a couple of hours, you'll be home before you mother knows you're even in the right time zone.”

“Tony.”

“Rhodes?”

“No.”

“Okay, fine, I'll call your mother,” Tony said, taking a sip from the coffee pot. 

“Do not.”

“What?” Tony smirked at nothing in particular. “Your mother loves me.”

“She does, I have no idea why, but she does, and it doesn't matter, because if you call my mother, I'm coming over there, and I will not be coming to help you, I'll be coming to throw you off your own building,” Rhodey said. “Do not charm my mother, next thing I know, I'll be at your house for Christmas and I do not need that, you'll give me an ulcer.”

“Rhodey. I'm asking you as a friend, as a brother-”

“No.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. “I didn't want to bring this up-”

“Stop. Just stop. You're embarrassing yourself, Tone.”

“But DJ's started calling Clint his favorite uncle.” There was silence on the other end of the line, and Tony had to fight against a triumphant grin. “I mean, he never sees you.”

“I know what you're doing.”

Tony shrugged. “And it's working anyway, isn't it?”

Another beat of silence. “I hate you,” Rhodey said.

“I'll see you in two hours,” Tony said, even though he was pretty sure that Rhodey had already hung up. He reached up and turned his earpiece off, just in case. “Man is nothing if not predictable.”

At the kitchen table, hunched over his bowl of cereal, Clint stared at him. “Did you... Did you just use me to make another dude jealous?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tony said.

Clint thought about that and then gave a shrug. “Awesome.” He went back to his cereal.

Tony passed him, patting him on the shoulder as he went. “Workshop. Two hours.”

“No,” Clint said around a mouthful of Cocoa Pebbles. “Absolutely not, nope, no way.”

Tony leaned over to look him in the eye. “That's fine. Rhodey can be the favorite uncle again.”

“I watch the kid like at least once a week,” Clint said, waving his spoon through the air. “I let him eat cotton candy for dinner.”

“Yeah, don't tell me that,” Tony said. “Really? Don't tell me that.”

Clint shrugged. “Besides, what could you possibly need me for? I can't engineer my way out of a paper bag.”

Tony nodded. “True. But I need someone with steady hands and a sharp eye and you-” He slapped Clint on the shoulder. “Fit the bill perfectly.”

Clint wrapped his arms around his cereal bowl. “I don't wanna.”

“Tough, this isn't about you, it's nto about me, it's about DJ. Agent up.” Tony looked at him over the rim of the coffee pot. “You like that? It's new. Cap says 'man up' is pretty sexist, so I'm trying something new.”

Clint stared at him. “You're a hero for our age,” he said.

“I like how you managed to keep a straight face for that,” Tony told him. “Workshop. Two hours. Bring Agent Spookypants.”

Clint opened his mouth to say something and Tony ducked out the door before he had a chance to get a word out.

“Jay? Where's Steve?” he asked, hustling towards the elevator. The coffee sloshed against the rim of the pot, and he tried to steady it.

“Downstairs in the function space,” Jarvis said, and Tony paused.

“I want to ask, but I'm not going to ask,” he said. He could ask Steve.

When he entered the large, open space that was reserved for their largest gatherings, he found Steve on a ladder, a stack of wreaths hooked over one arm. Tony stared up at him. “What are you doing?” he asked, stymied.

“Decorating for the Holiday party,” Steve said, adjusting a wreath and leaning back, checking to see if it was straight.

“I have people coming to do that,” Tony said.

“I like doing it,” Steve said. 

“Right, you're crazy,” Tony said. He tapped his knuckles on the side of the ladder, catching Steve's attention. Tony grinned up at him. “Come on down. I've got a mission for you.”

*

“Well, this is a hell of an op.”

Tony didn't even look up at the familiar, booming voice. “Intruder alert,” he said. 

“Stark, I ever want to get in here without you knowing it, you'll never see me coming,” Nick said, tossing a file folder onto a nearby workbench. “I showed my ID and signed in in the lobby, just like everyone else.” He glanced around the room. “What are you all doing?”

“Important work. Top secret. You can leave now, why are you even here?” Tony asked. “Clint, you've got to move that.”

Clint's eyes slid in his direction. “Then get me a better pair of tweezers, because you've left me about three and a half centimeters to work with here, and that's not enough.”

“I told you we didn't have the clearance,” Rhodey said, hunched over the plans. “You gotta move this-”

“That's the central drive shaft, we move that, we've got to move everything,” Tony said, stabbing at them. “Where are we going to go with it?”

“It matters not,” Thor said. “The metal is too heavy, you lose too much energy to weight, it will not continue.”

“Sure it will,” Jane said, around the paintbrush in her mouth. “We compensated for the friction.”

“At the base, not along the length,” Rhodey told her. She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers, and he handed the plans over. “Cap, any chance you can drop the size down?”

“Not and still have them be identifiable,” Steve said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I don't think the weight is the problem, I think the design was too complicated.”

“It's your design,” Natasha said, her knife sliding along the edge of a piece of plating with slow, even pressure. A thin curl of metal, fine as a thread, tangled with her fingers, and she flicked it away. 

“Trust me, I know,” Steve said. “But I just-” He shook his head, his mouth a thin line.

“It's fine,” Clint said. “It's fine.” He breathed in, and out, the same way he did when going into sniper mode, his hand steady as a rock as he manipulated the thin fragments of metal. “We can do this.”

“I am fascinated by this, I am,” Nick said. “But what are you DOING?” Jane held the plans out to him, and he took them. His single dark eye flicked over them, and then rose to meet Tony's gaze. “Why.”

“Because we can,” Tony said with a smirk. “Thor, can you bend this?”

“Tony has joined the ranks of fathers who spend the night before Christmas trying to assemble his child's presents,” Phil said, trimming a piece with quick, efficient movements. “I would've started with a bike, if I were him.”

“But I'm an overachiever. What are you doing here?” Tony asked.

“What are you doing here?” Nick asked Darcy, who was hunched over a workbench, her hair tied back in a bright red bandana.

“Painting,” she said, holding up her work and reaching for another color. “We stopped by to drop off some presents since Thor's gonna be with us tomorrow morning-”

“My mother insisted,” Jane said, her voice dark.

“And we got recruited.” Darcy looked up, showing off a splatter of glittering green paint along the line of her cheek. “Jane's been dry brushing D&D figurines since she was, like, six-”

“I have not, I didn't start playing until I was ten, Darcy.”

Darcy ignored her. “And this isn't nearly as bad as trying to follow nail polish tutorials on YouTube.” 

“Right,” Nick drawled. “Where's Banner?”

“Watching DJ,” Steve said. “He said this whole thing made him nervous. Too many tiny things in too small a space.”

“I can see that,” Nick said, bracing his hands on the workbench. He leaned in. “I can definitely see that.”

“Seriously. Christmas Eve. What are you doing here?” Tony asked him, snagging a piece from the assembly bots.

“Dropping off something for Phil on my way out of town,” Nick said. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it on a nearby stool. “Cheese, give me that sandpaper, you're doing a shit job, that's why it's not going together right, look, you didn't even round the seam.”

Phil handed over the sandpaper as Tony gaped at him. “What... Are you doing?”

“Stark, I was assembling models since before you were born. Do not question me.” He held out a hand, and Tony met his gaze, not quite sure how to take this. Nick wiggled his fingers. “You need all the help you can get, and you know it. Hand it over.”

Tony stared at him for a second, and then slowly did as he was told. “I'm going to pay for this later, aren't I?” he asked, suspicious.”

“Probably,” Nick said. But Tony was pretty sure he saw him grin as he leaned over the piece. “Just consider it a Christmas miracle and get back to work.”

Tony took his advice.

*

“Christmas?”

Tony opened one eye. A familiar pair of dancing brown eyes were peeking over the edge of the bed. He pretended not to notice, and a little hand crept over to tug at the corner of his pillow. “Christmas now?” DJ said, a little louder.

“Shh.” Behind Tony, Steve stirred, and the bed dipped as he pushed himself upright. Tony took the opportunity to roll over, grumbling into his pillow. Steve's hand ruffled over Tony's hair, and Tony batted at it. “It's technically Christmas, yes,” Steve whispered to DJ, still stroking Tony's hair. “But didn't we talk about when we would be getting up?” 

DJ circled around to Steve's side, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet. “No,” he said, with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah?” Steve held out his hands, and lifted DJ grabbed hold, letting Steve lift him up onto the bed and into his lap. “'Cause I remember talking about that.” DJ leaned against his chest, and Tony watched from beneath the sweep of his lashes as Steve hugged him close. He pressed a gentle kiss against DJ's tousled hair. “How about we let your dad sleep a little bit, I grab a tablet, and we can play your game for an hour or so?” he whispered, smoothing DJ's hair back from his face.

DJ considered that, his eyes narrowed. Steve waited, an amused look on his face. “Or,” he said, “you can go back to bed until seven, which is when we told you that you could get up.”

DJ blinked. “Game,” he declared, and Tony had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, I thought that might be your choice.” Steve twisted around, reaching for the tablet on the bedside table. While he was occupied, DJ resettled himself comfortably in his lap, leaning his back against Steve's chest. Steve handed over the tablet, and DJ started up whatever ridiculous game he was playing now. “Can I help?” Steve asked.

“No,” DJ said, with such conviction that Steve started to laugh, soft and easy.

“Well, that's rude,” he said, leaning his chin on DJ's head.

“Bad at it,” DJ said, and Tony grinned into his pillow.

“I'm not bad at your game, I know how to play this time,” Steve said. He hovered a hand over the screen, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Last time I just didn't know the rules. See, we just click here and-”

DJ blocked him, putting his hand between Steve's finger and the tablet. “No,” he said.

“I think I know what I'm doing, let's just-”

DJ held the tablet at arm's length, grinning. “No!”

“Shhhh,” Steve said, even as he reached for the tablet. “Look, we can just-”

DJ was tapping at the tablet with blinding speed, clearly trying to get things done before Steve could interfere. “No we!”

“I think we can-” Steve said, and DJ threw the blanket aside and ducked under it. Laughing, Steve settled back against the pillows, a fond smile on his face. 

Lulled by the soft rise and fall of Steve's voice, and DJ's muffled giggles, Tony let his eyes fall shut again, drifting back to sleep.

He woke up to the sound of someone being murdered.

Tony jerked upright, his heart in his throat, his body halfway out of bed before his brain could catch up with it.

Steve, his arms wrapped around a wriggling bundle of blankets, blinked at him. "Sorry," he said with a sheepish grin. "Did we wake you?"

Tony stared at him, his pulse thudding in his ears. Steve was flushed in the early morning light, his pale hair sticking straight up, his wrinkled shirt bunched up at the neck. As Tony watched, the blankets in his arms twisted to the side, letting out another unholy howl, and Steve grinned down at them. Tony huffed out a breath, his face relaxing into a reluctant smile. "The shrieking might have had something to do with me being awake, yes," he said, reaching out to tap the blankets. He was rewarded with another burst of childish laughter, and grinned. "I told you we should invest in the quieter comforter."

"But this one was so cute." Steve smiled at him, his eyes dancing. "Merry Christmas, Tony. I got you a present."

Tony bit back a laugh, even as he sank back onto his side of the bed. "I asked for a tie. This does not look like a tie, Rogers."

"It's better." Steve shifted DJ in his lap. "Wanna unwrap it before it suffocates?"

"No," Tony said, deadpan, but he reached out to push the blankets back, revealing a small, very active foot. "I think this child is defective, it doesn't have a head. I hope you kept the receipt."

Steve stared down at the foot. "How did you-" The blankets giggled, and Steve released them, letting the pile roll onto the bed between him and Tony. A few seconds of wriggling, and DJ's head popped out of the fabric. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself. “How did you manage to do that?”

“He's semi-liquid when he wants to be.” Tony stared down at DJ for a second. DJ grinned up at him, pleased with the attention. "No, seriously," Tony said, looking up at Steve. "Where's the receipt? We need to return this. This is not a tie at all." DJ, not at all bothered by the patter of words, scrambled across the bed to flop against Tony's chest. Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “Hi.”

“Christmas,” DJ declared.

“Barely,” Tony told him, but he rubbed a careful palm over DJ's head, smoothing his hair back. “I should send your presents back for waking us up this early.”

“Okay,” DJ said, because he was easy. He kicked his legs in the air, and Steve caught one of his feet.

“He only wants the food,” Steve pointed out. “Clint promised cinnamon swirl pancakes.”

“PANCAKES,” DJ crowed into the covers, his voice barely muffled by his face down position.

“Brat,” Tony said, but there was no heat to it. He sat up, tumbling DJ onto the bed. “Go get washed up, and we'll see if we can't find you some breakfast.”

DJ sat up. “Pancakes.”

“Maybe pancakes, we have so much food because of the party, we don't need pancakes right now.”

DJ gave him a horrified look. “Pancakes,” he said, very firm about it.

“Maybe pancakes,” Tony repeated, and Steve scooped DJ up, setting him on the floor next to the bed.

“Pancakes,” he whispered. “Go get cleaned up.”

DJ gave him a bright grin and scrambled off towards the bathroom, his arms waving through the air above his head. “CHRISTMAS PANCAKES!” he crowed.

“I heard that,” Tony said to Steve.

“I know, I just don't care,” Steve said, grinning at him. Tony glared back, and Steve leaned in. Tony leaned away from him.

“I'm not kissing you,” he said. “Underminer.”

“In my defense, Clint's pancakes are really good,” Steve said.

“Usurper.”

Steve twisted around, reaching for his nightstand. “This is just because I got you a kid instead of a tie for Christmas, isn't it?” he asked. A moment later, he turned back, a thin rectangular box in one hand. He held it out to Tony with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“I cannot be bought,” Tony said. But he took the box anyway, pulling the ribbon free with a real sense of pleasure. “You really got me a tie?”

Steve settled down next to him, one arm lumping his pillow up against his cheek. “I asked you what you wanted. You said a tie. I got you a tie.”

“I was being facetious,” Tony said.

“I know, so I got you a facetious tie.”

Tony paused, his eyes narrowing at Steve. But Steve just smiled at him, his face flushed, his hair tangled against his forehead. Knowing this was going to be good, Tony lifted the lid off of the box and folded back the tissue paper. For a long moment, he couldn't process what he was seeing. "Is this... Is this tie patterned with little War Machines?"

Steve grinned. "Riding unicorns, yep."

"God, I love you so much right now," Tony said, and Steve burst out laughing. Ignoring him, Tony looped the tie around his neck, tying it with practiced ease and snugging the knot against his throat. "It's wonderful, it's perfect, I will wear it every day until Rhodey lights it on fire while I'm still wearing it."

"I give it three days," Steve said. He yawned, shoving his hand through his hair. "Maybe less, since he's on the East Coast now." He rolled to the edge of the bed, stripping his shirt over his head as he went.

“He'll be here at noon, I invited his mom to our Christmas party.”

Steve paused. “Does he know about that?”

“I figured I'd let her surprise him.” Tony flipped the end of the tie up and down, grinning down at it. "Where did you even FIND something like this?"

"There's a stand selling knockoffs in the plaza across the way," Steve said. "He's a pretty good artist. Got pictures of me punching all of history's villains and also the guy who created Facebook, which I think is pretty uncalled for. I mean, you might not like the site, but I don't think he's really on Stalin's level."

"You scolded him, didn't you?" Tony asked.

"We had a frank discussion about portrays of celebrities and the limits of parody," Steve said, stretching.

"You scolded him," Tony interpreted with a broad grin. "Oh, God, tell me he takes commissions."

Steve looked over his shoulder at him. "Tony."

"I want so much art of you punching people. There are so many people I want you to punch, and now I can take that kink and put it on the wall for everyone to see." Tony spread his hands wide, staring up at the ceiling, a feeling of unholy glee flooding through him. "This is, this is an embarrassment of riches, this is going to be the best thing, I'm going to need a fucking spreadsheet."

Steve's head flopped forward. "Tony."

"Yes?" Tony sing-songed at him.

Steve pointed a finger in his direction. "No."

Tony thought about that. "See, we've been together too long, the scolding is ineffectual on me, I think I'm immune, I'm pretty sure I'm immune." He waved a hand through the air. "Tell me not to spend ridiculous amounts of money on your Christmas gift."

"Tell me you didn't-"

"Oh, I did, and I'm feeling nothing but smug self-satisfaction about it, I'm really pleased with the crater I made in my bank account doing this, and you glaring at me is not changing that," Tony said. "It's a Christmas miracle, I'm immune to the scolding, this is great, this is a game changer, I'm going to-"

His breath left him in a rush as Steve lunged, tackling him back into the pillows. Tony grinned up at him. "Hi," he said, as Steve leaned over him, his knees on either side of Tony's hips, his fingers tangling with Tony's and pinning his hands to the bed. "This is nice," Tony said. "This is good, I like this."

"Tony."

Tony gave Steve his brightest grin. "Yes?"

Steve's head dipped, his lips brushing against Tony's. "No," he whispered against Tony's mouth.

"Killjoy," Tony said, and brought his head up to deepen the kiss and swallow Steve's laughter.

"Christmas."

Steve pulled away, his head jerking up, and Tony let his head roll to the side. DJ was glaring at him from his perch beside the bed. "Hi," Tony said.

"Christmas," DJ repeated, his voice very stern.

"Christmas,” Tony agreed, as Steve rolled away from him. Tony mourned that for a moment, then pushed himself upright. “Let's go wake Barton and Phil.”

*

“I think we went overboard,” Steve said.

“What makes you say that?” Tony asked. 

“We've lost the child in the discarded wrapping paper,” Steve said.

“It's fine,” Tony said, rubbing a hand through his hair. Steve gave him a look, and Tony just grinned at him. “Hey, Deej! Want a donut?”

A pile of wrapping paper next to Natasha went in all directions as DJ popped up. Laughing, Nat leaned over and stuck a bow to his head. He grinned up at her. “Color?”

“Green,” she said, leaning on the arm of the couch. She reached out, tipping her chin up with gentle fingers. “Looks good with your eyes.”

His face scrunched up with pleasure. “Thank!”

“Kid's easy,” Clint said, unwrapping what appeared to be a microbrew home kit. Tony wondered if his insurance covered exploding beer.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said. “I think his favorite gift so far has been the stack of jigsaw puzzles.”

“You're doing those with him, by the way,” Tony told him. “I am not dealing with one thousand pieces of colored cardboard.”

“Mine,” DJ told him, wandering around the living room, kicking crumpled and torn wrapping paper like they were fallen leaves. “Not for you.”

“Thank god,” Tony told him. But Steve was probably right. DJ had unwrapped books and puzzles, crayons and paints, video games and action figures. A new pair of Hawkeye pajamas and a golden, glowing floating ship that could be thrown like a boomerang sent by Frigga. Socks and mittens specifically made for children with fabric sensitivity. Tins of homemade cookies and fudge, and jars of cookie mix, ready to be made some lazy Saturday afternoon. 

“We might've gone a little overboard,” Tony admitted to Steve. “Just a little.”

“Mostly because he'd be just as happy if we let him play with the wrapping paper and a cardboard box,” Steve said, but he was smiling, a gentle, warm smile.

“There's that,” Tony admitted. “But we haven't gotten to the best one yet.”

“Donuts?” DJ asked.

“No,” Tony told him, even as Bruce reached behind his chair, coming up with a box of donut holes, tied with a silver ribbon. Tony gave him a look. Bruce shrugged.

“Small donuts,” he pointed out, as DJ took the box from him with a pleased grin.

“Share them, please,” Steve said, and DJ nodded. While he was distracted by offering the box to the others, Steve looked at Tony, and Tony stood. By the time Phil had chosen a coconut covered donut hole, Tony was lowering one last box onto the coffee table.

He stood there, hands in his pockets, as DJ crossed the room to him. He held the box out to Tony. “Donut?”

Tony smiled at him. “Pick one for me,” he said, and DJ considered the box. Finally, after thinking about it for what seemed like an inordinately long time, he held up a slightly squashed jelly donut hole. Tony took it. “Thank you.” He nodded at the box. “Want to open this one? It's easy, just lift the box straight up.” DJ looked at it, then at the box of donut holes. “I can hold that for you,” Tony offered.

DJ's eyes narrowed, and he backed away, putting the donut holes safely out of reach. Tony stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me right now?” he asked, as DJ covered the box with some discarded paper. “First of all, I'm not going to take your donuts. Second, I can SEE you putting them there, they're right there, I-”

There was the faint click of a cell phone camera, and Tony turned to glare at Steve. “Really?”

“Texting Pepper,” Steve said, grinning down at his phone. “She knows what you're like.”

“I'd break up with you, but I don't want to ruin Christmas for everyone,” Tony said, and amid the laughter, he looked down at DJ. “Well? Wanna see what dad got you? What we made for you?” DJ's head tipped to the side. “Family present,” Tony admitted. “We made it for you, so open it, kidlet.”

DJ reached for the box, and Steve was filming it for everyone who wasn't there. He had to go onto his tiptoes to slide it free, and then the box slipped from DJ's fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter. DJ sank down to his knees, his eyes huge.

In the center of the metal sculpture was a model of Avengers tower rose, gleaming and smooth above a collection of smaller buildings ringing it on all sides. Above the tower, a tall spire was topped by a circular collection of metal clouds, connected together to form an art nuveau styled fanblade. Below that, perched on the top of the building, a little green Hulk in a red Santa hat was sitting, arms wrapped around a delicately formed Christmas tree. Phil and Fury were tacking swags of evergreen boughs around the edge of the observation deck, and Spider-Man was hanging over the edge, a set of Christmas lights taking the place of his usual web. Reed was stretching up, his arm curved in a swirl to cradle a pile of ornaments.

DJ leaned over, staring into the little observation deck, where tiny crystal panes formed the windows. Inside, tiny figures of Pepper, in a sleek white dress and a crown of holly, and Bruce, his arms full of brightly wrapped packages, were decorating a Christmas tree, and Maria and Sue were nearby, untangling the lights. Franklin and Val were seated beneath the tree, stringing popcorn and cranberries. A few other familiar figures were visible through the windows.

Tony tucked his hands in his pockets. "Like it?" he asked, and DJ nodded, unable or unwilling to tear his eyes away from the metal sculpture. Tony grinned. "Good. It gets better."

He leaned over DJ's head, his fingers finding the almost invisible button on the side of one of the buildings surrounding the tower. There was a faint click, and the side of the building opened up, revealing a candle inside. "Now, we just light these-" He met Steve's eyes, who started opening the rest of the half dozen buildings. Together, they lit the candles, one after another, and 'closing' them back up again. Now, the windows of the miniature skyscrapers glowed, and as each candle was lit, the cloud shaped fan blade began to turn in lazy circles.

And as it spun, a small panel on the side of the tower was pushed open and two tiny figures slipped through.

Iron Man swept through the air above the building, Captain America held easily in one arm. Iron Man's head was tipped towards Cap's, and Cap was holding his shield up above their heads. They were following an almost invisible strand of clear plastic, swooping around Hulk and and the three, then down around the building in lazy, easy loops, disappearing through a door at the base of the tower. 

One breath, two, and War Machine swept along behind them, Nat hanging below him on a string of tinsel garland, a bag slung around her body and resting on her hip. Stars swirled below her feet, glittering in the candle light. And finally, Thor came flying along the metal thread, hammer extended over his head with one hand, and the other holding Clint by the back of his vest. Clint was facing behind them, his bow drawn up, and a spray of sparkling snowflakes hanging in the air as if falling from an exploding arrow.

And as the third set disappeared from view, there was a click, and Hulk lifted the tree. There, underneath, a tiny DJ was poised over a big red button. The figure shifted forward, and the tiny lights came to life, flickering along the full length of the tower.

DJ let out an audible breath, and Tony realized he'd been holding his breath as well. “Like it?” he asked, and DJ nodded, his eyes still locked on the sculpture as the cycle repeated itself. He reached out, one tiny finger brushing against the Iron Man figure as it went sweeping past.

“Thank,” he whispered.

Tony ruffled his hair. “Don't worry,” he said, setting a small, flat box next to DJ. “I got you the one from online, too.”

DJ stared up at him, and then lunged forward, his arms going around Tony's waist, holding on with all his strength. Tony, caught off guard, looked at Steve, who was just grinning at them, his eyes overly bright. Tony took a deep breath, and let it out, ignoring the lump in his throat. “No time for emotions,” he said, his hand smoothing over DJ's hair. “Steve hasn't opened half of his presents and we've got a party to host in less than three hours.”

DJ pulled away, his eyes wet, and Tony reached for a napkin. “Think you can help him?” he asked, mopping at DJ's damp cheeks. DJ pushed his hand away with a scowl and looked towards Steve, who held out his arms.

“I need all the help I can get,” he said with an easy smile.

“That is absolutely the truth,” Clint said, and dodged when Nat tried to punch him in the shoulder. “What? What?”

“Be nice,” Phil said, sipping his coffee. “It's Christmas.”

DJ looked back at Tony. He pointed at the diorama. “Leave it on?” he asked, his face pleading.

Tony nodded. “As long as you like,” he agreed, and handed DJ the box with the simple angel chimes. Hugging it to his chest, DJ scrambled across the room, kicking up piles of crumpled wrapping paper as he headed for Steve.

Tony looked around the room, hands on his hips. “We don't have all day, people, open your presents.”

“Put on your new slippers, first,” Bruce said, studying the instructions for his new centrifuge. He glanced at Tony over the rims of his glasses. “Don't think we didn't notice you trying to distract us. We noticed.”

“We're no longer friends, you and I,” Tony told him, reaching for the box. “You're dead to me, Banner.”

“And our last interaction is going to be with you wearing pink bunny slippers,” Bruce said. “I find I'm fine with this.”

*

It wasn't until the party was over that Tony realized he'd lost his family.

"Anyone seen Steve?" he asked the room at large, his hands on his hips. "Or, you know, my kid?"

"DJ got overwhelmed about an hour ago," Bruce said, leaning over to pick up a punch cup from the table. He added it to the already overflowing tray he had propped on his hip. "And since the Storm-Richards had already left, Steve took him downstairs, I think."

"Only the Storm-Richards we like, I had to chase JS out with a broom. Leave it," Tony said to Bruce. "We've got a cleaning service coming in tomorrow."

"I don't mind," Bruce said, adding another cup to the pile. "Natasha? Any more?"

"I don't think so," she said, her sleek, glittering dress at odds with the stack of dirty plates she had balanced in her hands. "Ask Phil, he was making cocoa last time I passed through the kitchen, and that usually means DJ."

"Or Clint," Tony said.

"They do share a love for sugar and attention," Natasha agreed. When Tony moved to step past her, she shoved the plates at him. Tony, caught off guard, took them. "Make yourself useful."

Tony stared down at the plates, nonplussed. "I do," he said. "I pay for it."

"And when have we ever cared about that?" Natasha asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Never," Tony said. "It would be nice if you did, though, really. Throw me a bone here."

Nat cupped his cheek in one palm, her slim, calloused fingers sliding against his skin. "Thank you," she said, leaning up to press a delicate kiss against his cheek. "And Merry Christmas, Stark."

Tony stilled. "Did you leave lipstick?" he asked.

"No, I'm not gauche," she said, stepping back. 

"Can you leave lipstick?" Tony asked. "Steve is starting to forget that I'm a hell of a catch."

Natasha patted him on the chest. "I'm sure you remind him." Her lips pursed. "Often."

"I try, oh, God, do I try," Tony said, starting towards the kitchen. The plates rattled with every step, and he seriously considered just dropping them. It seemed childish. He was pretty sure he didn't care.

He kicked the door to the shared kitchen open with all the aplomb of a gunfighter entering a saloon. No one inside even looked in his direction. "Where am I putting things I do not care about?" 

"Knowing you? Everywhere," Clint said, elbow deep in the sink. Suds clung to his shirt and the countertop, but he dumped another pot into the sink without a flinch, even when the water splashed onto his shoes.

"Ha. Ha," Tony said. He dropped the plates on the counter next to Clint, enjoying the way they clattered. "Anyone know where Steve and DJ are?"

Phil, his tie loose and his suit jacket gone, didn't even look up from polishing a silver cake server. "Living room," he said, setting the piece aside and reaching for another. "I made DJ some cocoa."

"Thanks," Tony said, and Phil gave a slight nod. But he was smiling.

"He was well tired," Thor said, loading a stack of plastic bins of leftovers in the fridge. "And sick, I think, of the noise of such things." He shut the door with a thump. "Are we keeping the crackers?"

"No," Tony said, at the same time as Clint said, "Yes." Tony stopped, and gave him a look. Clint shrugged.

"I'll eat 'em," he said.

"As will I," Thor said, with a stern dip of his chin. He looked around. "Have we another Tupperware?"

"I cannot even with any of you," Tony said. "I really- I just cannot." He threw his hands in the air. "Throw them out!"

"I think DJ needs to be put to bed, why don't you go do that?" Phil said, and took a cracker from the half-demolished tray. Meeting Tony's eyes, he took an enthusiastic bite. Tony resisted the urge to flip him off.

Instead, he left the kitchen, muttering to himself. "Jay, are Steve and DJ still in the living room?" he asked, punching the button for the elevator.

"Yes," Jarvis said.

"Now you tell me," Tony said.

"Now you ask," Jarvis shot back, and Tony struggled against a grin.

“When did you acquire this attitude?” he asked.

“Roughly 5.83 seconds after being activated.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Tony stepped off the elevator, heading down the hallway to the living room. From the hall, the room looked dark, it wasn't until he was almost at the doorway that he saw the faint, flickering light of the fire spilling out across the polished floor.

He stopped in the doorway, pausing to consider the scene in front of him. DJ was kneeling in front of the coffee table, his head pillowed in his folded arms, his eyes locked on the Avengers Tower diorama. The candles were flickering inside their building shaped holders, and the little figures went through their motions, smooth and fluid. His robot mug was by his elbow, a thin wisp of steam curling over the rim.

Steve was in the armchair by the fire, his head lolling to the side, his face relaxed in sleep. The angel chimes that DJ had chosen from online were on the table next to him, the bells ringing with a slow, melodic rhythm. Tony slipped in, picking up a blanket from the basket just inside the door. He spread the blanket over Steve's legs, and paused just long enough to push Steve's hair back away from his face. The strands looked like gold in the low light of the fire, and when he stepped away, it was with a reluctance that surprised him.

"Do you think he likes his sweater?" Tony asked DJ, turning towards him. Steve was wearing the ridiculously expensive cableknit sweater they'd chosen for him.

DJ considered the question, his head tipped to the side, his eyes narrowed over his cocoa mustache. "Yes," he said at last.

Tony grinned down at him. "I do not appreciate how long you spent thinking about that," he said, and DJ grinned up at him, unrepentant. Tony ruffled his hair with a rough hand. "Brat."

He tossed himself down on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I suppose I should feed you."

DJ, his attention back on the slow, steady swoop of the tiny figures around the glittering cityscape, pointed at a nearby napkin. Tony leaned forward and lifted it. Underneath, he found a selection of finger foods, clearly put together from the odds and ends left over after the party. There were rounds of sausage and rough chunks of cheese, slices of soft, crusty bread and piles of baby carrots and tiny grape tomatoes. Heavy slices of bread, the crusts cracking against the plate, were next to small cups of jam and honey, butter and mustard. Tony stole a pickle, a small, crisp gerkin that filled his mouth with the taste of garlic and spice when he bit into it. "Clint make this for you?"

DJ shook his head. "Thor," he said, picking up a piece of celery. Before biting into it, he removed the threads, his fingers digging into the crisp flesh to peel them away. 

Tony nodded. “Say what you will, the man does know how to make a snack plate," he said, and let his head fall back onto the back of the couch. There was a long, quiet moment, and then the couch dipped next to him, DJ's small weight settling in against his side. Tony lifted his head up. DJ was still watching the candlelit diorama. "Do you like it?"

DJ looked up. "Yes," he said. And then he snuggled against Tony's side, his fingers, sticky with chocolate and celery and god only knew what else, tangled in the fabric of Tony's sweater. "Thank."

The warmth that settled in his chest had nothing to do with the fire, but Tony decided to give it credit, anyway. "Don't expect things to be like this every year," he said. "This is your one Christmas present. Ever."

DJ nodded. "Okay."

"No birthday presents, either," Tony told him. "I burned through my 'gift-giving ability' here. This is it. When you turn twenty, I'm just going to drag this out again." He waved an idle hand at the sleek diorama. "This is your only present."

"Okay," DJ repeated.

"Ever," Tony told him.

DJ looked up at him, his big, dark eyes so familiar that it hurt, and after a moment of silent contemplation, he smiled. "Worth it," he said, and went back to watching it go through its motions.

Tony opened his mouth to say something else, and caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. "Enjoying the show, Rogers?" he asked.

In the flickering light by the fireplace, he saw Steve's lips curl up in a smile. "You're a fake, Stark," he said, his voice husky.

"Oh, God, yes," Tony agreed.

Steve's smile stretched. "DJ, your dad's a fake."

Tony covered DJ's ears. "Stop maligning me in front of the child. I meant every word of it. No more presents." DJ pushed at his hands, giggling, and Tony leaned over to press a kiss to his head. "Don't listen to him. He's horrible. Horrible. He does government work."

Steve was chuckling, soft and low. "Tony..."

Tony ignored him. "Remember, anti-establishment. It's the Stark way."

"Okay," Steve said, pushing himself up from his chair. He snagged the blanket before it could end up on the floor, and then crossed the room. "Stop teaching him horrible things."

"Strong words from the guy who threatened to toss a US Senator into the Hudson," Tony said, as Steve dropped down onto the couch next to him.

"Hey, he's the one who thinks that our water supply and wetlands don't need protection," Steve said, serene. "Thought I'd let him see the effects of his policies up close." 

"It's December, Steve."

"It was November when I said that, and you know it."

Tony shook his head, adjusting his position so that Steve could wrap an arm around his shoulders. "How have you not gotten arrested yet?"

"It's a nightmare of a photo op," Steve said. He yawned against the side of Tony's head. "He added his own touch."

"What?" Tony looked at Steve, who just smiled, at him, and then down at DJ. "What have you done to my masterwork?"

DJ hid his smile behind his hands. "Shield," he said, and Tony leaned forward.

As the Iron Man and Captain America figures swung out on their thread, he caught them with one fingertip. At first glance, he couldn't see what they were talking about. And then he tilted them forward, angling them so he could see the underside of Captain America's shield. There, attached to the strap of the miniature shield, was a tiny cluster of green leaves and white berries, barely bigger than the head of a pin.

"Mistletoe," he said, releasing the figures, and they went on their merry way, Captain America's light-bedecked shield twinkling as they went. He looked down at DJ, who was nearly vibrating with repressed laughter. 

"Look, you can't just-" Tony started, mock stern, and then Steve's lips brushed against his cheek. Tony turned in his direction, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not going to be distracted."

Steve considered him. "It's truly a family project now." He leaned in for a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Stark."

Tony grinned against his lips. "Merry Christmas, Rogers."

"God bless us, every one," DJ said, soft and sing song and practiced, and Tony settled back to watch the fire burn low, the soft, steady ringing of the chimes echoing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who've never seen them, DJ has found a set of Angel Chimes. My Swedish grandmother gave us a set when I was a child, and I have very fond memories of them.
> 
> http://angelchimes.com/images/silverchimes.jpg


End file.
